


Come Into My Parlor

by Medie



Category: The Pretender
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 06:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Centre politics are thus: EVERYTHING comes back to Jarod.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Into My Parlor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bantha fodder (banthafodder)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/banthafodder/gifts).



She looks so young in the dark, a single sliver of moonlight sprawled across her skin. He traces the line of it with one finger.

In her sleep, Emily sighs and frowns. Her brow wrinkles delicately and Lyle leans forward to kiss the lines away.

Another sigh and she's cuddling closer. He smiles and lets her settle against his side.

-

Lyle's humming when he walks into the lobby. By the time he reaches the elevator, coffee in one hand, paper in the other, he's just this side of singing. Parker shoots him a dirty look and he smiles. "Beautiful day, huh, sis?"

She huffs and looks away, thumbing through her cellphone with practiced disinterest. God, he loves it when he pisses her off.

"You're gorgeous when you're seething with contempt, anyone ever tell you that?"

The elevator slides open and he steps inside. As the doors close, he smiles out at her and starts humming again.

She flips him off.

-

He sends Emily flowers. Daisies to match her current alias. He invites her to dinner and, as an afterthought, orders her a dress.

By lunchtime, he's thrown in jewelry and shoes to match. His assistant raises eyebrows at the charges, nothing but the best, and he just chuckles. "Trust me, she's worth it."

-

He's whistling when he leaves work, already dressed for dinner himself. Parker's on her way out as well. He'd be lying if he said he didn't time it that way. "Going my way?" he asks, fixing his tie.

"Mercifully, no," she says. He knows the look this time. She's wishing she still smoked just so she could blow smoke in his eyes. "I have a prior engagement."

Parker sweeps a calculating gaze over him. "And what poor pathetic creature is your unwitting victim tonight?"

Lyle laughs. "She's hardly a victim, Sis." At least, not _yet_. "She is, however, a very beautiful woman who I care for very much."

She snorts. He doesn't believe that one either, but it bugs her and that works.

Producing a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, her brand, he waves them in her direction. "Smoke?"

-

Emily's waiting in the restaurant. Her hair is a pile of curls atop her head, the dress hangs low on her shoulders, clinging to her body like an invitation that he plans on accepting. More than a few eyes track her progress as she stands to meet him, the expressions in them suggesting he's not alone in wanting to take her up on it.

With a grin for their benefit, Lyle pulls her closer and kisses her soundly. His hand slides down her bare back, resting against its curve, fitting her against him. She doesn't resist, yielding easily, and he actually enjoys himself.

Say what you will about Pretenders, he's said plenty himself, they are a stunningly attractive lot. He sits across from her, watching her smile at the waiter, and almost undertands his sister.

Almost.

-

In the back of the limo, Emily rises and falls. Her mouth falls open and he pushes a hand into her curls. His grip tightens and a gasp escapes those perfect lips.

She tightens around him, he groans, and stutters into her.

When she slumps against him, disheveled and beautiful, he considers his next move. He drops her off, seeing her to the door, and has his phone in hand before he reaches the elevator.

"We do it tonight."

-

He promised the boys a new Pretender. A whole new generation sounds like a much better plan.

-

Emily's apartment is empty when the sweepers burst in. Empty. Completely. No clothing, no furniture, nothing but cobwebs in the corners and a small box on the floor.

One of the sweepers reaches for it. Lyle calls a warning, but too late.

The room explodes into light and sound before going dark.

-

"You know, Lyle," a voice says when he wakes. It's conversational. Friendly. _Familiar_. "When you were just a psychopath, I could respect you. Really, but a stupid one? That's just pathetic." He knows that voice.

"Jarod!"

Lyle jerks up, lunging for the Pretender, but the handcuffs on his wrists bring him up solid. Held fast, he's confronted with a troublesome image. Jarod. Jarod flanked by his sister and Lyle's both. They're not smiling.

"Well, this doesn't bode well," he says. He relaxes, slumping into the pillows, and neither one of them answers. "What's next? A firing squad at dawn? Cement galoshes? Is one of you going to sing?"

Emily rolls her eyes and turns away. "He's your problem now."

"It was all a trap, huh?" he calls after her. "Even the sex?"

Her shoulders tighten, but she does turn around. She's almost smiling. The same dark smile he's seen on her brother's face. The one that's fury and ash buried beneath a knife's edge. That smile has always worried him, whispering of what might be if Jarod should decide to turn on the Centre.

Turns out, they all have.

"Yes," she says. "You just weren't the one setting it."

-

He doesn't know what they want. Some days, he doesn't think they do either.

-

One thing he does know? They don't care.


End file.
